The door of the summer-house stood wide to the night.  Yet so breathless was the air that the candles within (set by Mrs Bowldler on the table beside the glasses and decanters) carried a flame as unwavering as any star of the firmament.  So the two friends sat and smoked, and between their puffed tobacco-smoke penetrated the dewy scents of the garden.  Both were out-tired with the day’s labours; for both were growing old.

“‘Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all,’” murmured Cai. “’Twas a noble text we chose.”

“Ay,” responded ’Bias, drawing the pipe from his lips.  “She’ve kept a widow just thirty-six years.  An unusual time, I should say.”

“Very,” agreed Cai.

They gazed out into the quiet night, as though it held all their future and they found it good.